After Glow by Jayne Castle Page B

in the aging apartment buildings that rose on either side of the lane were lit at this hour.
    Emmett was well aware that the lack of illumination did not mean that there was not a lot of lively business activity going on in the vicinity. Most of the entrepreneurs who plied their trades and sold their goods in this part of town preferred to work at night and in the shadows. The sole exception might be the Greenie huddled at a small table beneath the lane’s single streetlamp, books stacked in front of him. He did not look all that happy to be on the job at that hour. Emmett didn’t blame him.
    The Slider fit, just barely, into a tiny space near the entrance to the flophouse where Maltby had lived. Emmett de-rezzed the engine and looked at Lydia with what he hoped was an expression of stern authority.
    “Stick close to me,” he ordered. “I go in first. If anything happens, you let me handle it, understood?”
    “Relax.” She unbuckled her belt and opened the door. “What can go wrong? I told you, I just want to have a quick look around Maltby’s place. We’ll be in and out in five minutes.”
    “Why doesn’t that reassure me?” he said, cracking the door.
    Fuzz, crouched on Lydia’s shoulder, blinked his blue eyes and then, when he realized that Lydia was about to exit the Slider, opened his second set. His small body quivered with what looked like anticipation. He loved the night.
    Emmett met Lydia and Fuzz at the front of the vehicle. He summoned a few stray wisps of ghost energy and fixed them to the license plate.
    “Well, that should certainly ensure that the car is still here when we get back,” Lydia said with wry appreciation. “No one in his right mind is going to steal a Slider from a ghost-hunter who is strong enough to attach a small ghost to it on a city street.”
    He shrugged. “Don’t know about the fear factor but I do know that the ghost energy clinging to the car makes it a hell of a lot easier to find if it does get swiped.”
    He opened his para-rez senses as far as possible and knew that Lydia was probably doing the same.
    Traces of psi energy trickled, seeped, and flowed all around them. There was nothing unusual about that, not in this part of town. But they felt stronger now than they had earlier in the day. Emmett was not surprised. Although the researchers had never been able to prove it, most people with even an ounce of para-rez sensibility— and that included virtually everyone since the second generation of colonists—were convinced that the ghostly currents whispered a little more loudly after dark.
    One popular theory held that it wasn’t the psi energy that was more powerful at night, rather it was that humans were simply more sensitive to it when the sun went down. It made sense, Emmett thought, that without the distraction of the solar radiation that came with daylight, the human mind might be better able to focus on other kinds of energy.
    Whatever the reason, there was no denying that here, in the shadows of the walls of the Dead City, things got a lot more interesting between sundown and dawn.
    It was difficult to see much of the Greenie at the table. The flowing robes and heavy cowl concealed gender, age, and features very effectively. It was only when the figure spoke to them that Emmett knew for certain it was a man.
    “Have you found true bliss?” the Greenie murmured, thrusting a book toward Lydia.
    “Not yet,” Lydia said. “But I’m working on it.”
    “Read this and learn the thirteen steps that anyone can follow to the secrets of perpetual happiness. The keys to bliss were given to Master Herbert by the spirit of the ancient Harmonic philosopher, Amatheon. They are yours for the taking.” The Greenie pushed the book into her fingers.
    “Okay, thanks.” Lydia dropped the book into her purse with an impatient movement.
    The Greenie smiled from the depths of his cowl and held out a bowl. “A small contribution is expected. Little enough to ask when